


morningside

by singsongsung



Category: What to Expect When You're Expecting (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsongsung/pseuds/singsongsung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco gives her roses on their first official date. Post-movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	morningside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earnmysong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/gifts).



10.

 

Clara is born on Christmas Day, a bundle of perfection, eight pounds, two ounces 

Marco has this reverent look on his face that Rosie’s never seen before, that she wants to remember forever, even though she’s looking at him through a haze of exhaustion and happy tears. 

Their daughter is so impossibly small, with light brown hair and sleepy blue eyes. She has her father’s nose. 

And Rosie knows, right in that moment, that this is it – this is the time when it’s right, when it’s perfect.

 

 

 

02.

 

They hold the twins that day in the hospital. 

Rosie is sort of stunned at how tiny and real they are. Such small fingers slip beneath the collar of her shirt with surprising ambition, skin resting against skin. She catches Marco watching and when she does he gets flushed, like he’s been caught checking out her boobs. She laughs and then she cries. 

In the hospital hallway he holds her hand and kisses her temple and being with him becomes a balm for all the ways it hurt before.

 

 

 

05.

 

Rosie makes Marco caramels on every birthday, every holiday. She hides the wrapped ones you can buy in the store in his sock drawer, under his pillow. When he gets huffy at her she blinks at him innocently, teases, “What are you mad about, babe?” in a voice as sweet as honey. 

He’ll finally say, “The _car_ mels,” with a frown on his face like he knows that’s been her goal all along, but it always makes him smile when she laughs.

 

 

 

07.

 

Italy’s their honeymoon destination and it’s all about the food. They endeavour to be classy and sophisticated and to try new things, but they eat gelato nearly every day.

 Rosie learns things about Marco that she never knew before, like the story of how his grandfather met his grandmother and the way only one of his feet is extremely ticklish on the bottom. She likes his little routines, the way he brushes his teeth in the shower and likes to read the newspaper at night instead of him the morning.

 She says, “If you’d gone to prom with me we could have gotten married ages ago.”

 And he says, with a broad grin, “I was waiting for my moment.”  

 

 

 

06.

 

“Shit,” Marco says, breathless and laughing and sprawled out on his back next to her, sheets snagged around his hips. It’s a perfectly normal evening (and that’s how normal has seemed lately, more and more perfect). His fingers are still loosely tangled with hers. “Do you think we should get married?” 

Rosie smacks at his chest with the back of her hand. She grins at him, exasperated, and he grins back – and then he’s pulling a ring out from under his pillow, from the exact place she always hides caramels for him to find, looking at her all serious-eyed and hopeful. 

She says yes.

 

 

 

01.

 

In high school, Rosie thinks that Marco’s an idiot. An adorable idiot whom she crushes on from the day after Christmas break in ninth grade, when he picks her books up for her from the floor and tells her that her haircut looks good, that he hopes she had a good holiday, that he’ll see her around sometime. 

She’s a little broken-hearted when he doesn’t take her to prom. Only for a day, or maybe two. Rosie Brennan doesn’t do that teenage girl silliness with the wallowing and waiting around. She’s better than that, better than him – and she proves it. She kicks his ass in business instead. 

 

 

 

08.

 

“Rose,” he says softly. She knows he’s serious; she can always tell that it’s something without a joke behind it when he drops her nickname, whittles her name down to one gentle syllable. There’s that, and the way he’s ignoring the football game on television. “Let’s have a baby.” 

It’s a suggestion that surprises her silent for a moment. “I – ” She hesitates, biting her lip.

Marco kisses her, all soft and building like he did that night on top of the car. “Let’s have a baby,” he says again, in a whisper. “Let’s make a baby.” 

“Marco,” she murmurs, touching his hand that’s sliding over her abdomen with her own. Their wedding bands bump, cool against her skin. 

“This is it,” he says, with such ease, such certainty. “We’re it, Rosie.” He kisses her nose. “I promise you it’ll be different.”

 “Don’t,” she says softly. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.” 

“I wouldn’t,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t. Not to you. Not about this.” 

He taps his fingers over her heart as they kiss. She gives in two days later, after she pretends to think about it.

 

 

 

04.

 

They’re a booming success together, in more ways than one. Her friends adore him as soon as he’s back in her good graces, and his mother asks Rosie to call her _mom_ the third time they meet, embarrassing Marco so much that the tips of his ears turn red. 

The food truck works out wonderfully, too. They make more money together than they did apart and it’s more fun to tease Marco than to directly compete with her. She likes working in the same space as him: she likes the small of his cologne, the absent way he touches the small of her back when he’s reaching around her, the way he kisses her in the corner of the truck like they’ve got all the time in the world between orders. 

“We’re better together,” Rosie says once, sleepy and tipsy from wine. Marco calls her a corndog and doesn’t let her live it down for years.

 

 

 

03.

 

Marco gives her roses on their first official date. 

“This is cheesy, right?” he says, pushing fingers nervously through his hair, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I bet every guy gives you roses. I bet you actually like daffodils or something instead.” 

Rosie smiles a little, bouquet in her hands. “Dandelions, actually,” she teases, and it’s nice, the way she cans see him visibly relax. 

“I’ll remember that,” he promises. “For next time.” 

She stays over and when she wakes up there’s a mug by his bed with water and a single flowering weed in it. She’s all by herself in his bed, still tired and wishing she’d thought to wash off her makeup last night, but that’s it, that’s the second when she knows. 

Marco yells from the kitchen to find out if she’s awake, and if she is, what she wants for breakfast. Out loud, to his empty room with the slightly-crooked posters on the wall, Rosie says, “I love you.”

 

09.

 

On a sunny Tuesday afternoon they sit next to each other on the edge of the bathtub, feet tapping nervously against the floor and pinkie fingers brushing at their sides, waiting for something to appear in the tiny window on that small plastic stick. 

It’s a plus sign.

 

 


End file.
